Wreathed In Fire
by Tifaching
Summary: John's got new priorities now.    Written for the prompt: endless night at last year's spn las.


This story was written for the SPN last author standing competition on LJ. The prompt was: endless night.

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><p>It's like he's staring down a dark, narrow tunnel and at the end, wreathed in fire, is his wife. He's surrounded by flashing lights and noise- in front of him the smoking remains of his home. Sam's in his arms, looking at the fire trucks in wonder. Dean's pressed to his side, staring at the house, gaze begging to know when his mother is coming out. John's oblivious to the commotion, the cold, even the children until a hand grips his shoulder and shakes him hard. He jerks back in response, stifling a curse. Sammy begins to squirm in his father's grasp and Dean grabs John's hand tightly to keep from sliding off the Impala's hood.<p>

"Hey. Hey, Mr. Winchester." The EMT holds up his hands non-threateningly. "Take it easy, man. The fire's out and we need to get you all to the hospital. These kids need to be someplace warm and we need to make sure they're okay. We need to check you out too. How long were you all in the house after the fire started? Are you having any trouble breathing?"

_Trouble? Breathing? _ John's felt like he's been oxygen deprived since he saw his wife on the ceiling, but he doesn't tell the medic that. If he did, he might have to explain and what the hell is he supposed to say? More of the man's words penetrate the fog he's drifting in. _Kids. _Jesus Christ, Sammy and Dean have been out here in the cold for how long? John checks his watch. Then he checks it again. This can't be right. After they'd put the boys down, he and Mary had settled on the couch for a little quiet time and when the old WWII movie had come on at ten, Mary had turned in. She'd never been one for violence- John's mind shies away from a vision of a blood soaked nightgown- and he must have dropped off shortly afterwards. It's twelve-thirty. Four hours ago, they'd been a family and his children had a mother. Now they only have a father, and John realizes he's got to get off his ass and start taking care of them.

One of the medics is trying to wrap a blanket around Dean, but he's not having much luck. John grabs the blanket and wraps it around all three of them. He thinks of the blood in Sammy's crib, Dean's horrified eyes.

"Okay," he says. "Let's get my boys checked out. Can you do that here?"

"We'd rather do it at the hospital, sir. It's a hell of a lot warmer, and a lot more private."

John looks around, noticing the crowd for the first time. There are police officers among the civilians, shooting him looks, and he knows it's just a matter of time before they come over to ask him questions he doesn't have the answers to. "Hospital sounds good to me. Hey. Hey, Dean. Want to ride in the ambulance, kiddo?"

Dean starts to breathe so hard, he's hyperventilating and he clings to John even harder. John looks at the EMT helplessly.

"It's okay, Dean is it? Your Dad's going to come with you in the ambulance. Your little brother, too. But we need to make sure all of you are okay, so if you're ready we should go now."

Dean nods, not removing his face from his father's side, and John carries both boys into the waiting vehicle. He watches through the back window as a stretcher is taken out of the back of another ambulance, black bag folded on top. Thank Christ they had the good sense to wait until the kids were out of there, he thinks as the ambulance pulls away. As they drive down the street, two police officers move to their car, ready to follow them to the hospital. His mind races with possible explanations he can give them for what happened. The truth is out of the question and he hopes like hell that an unknown intruder and an accidental fire will be a story they believe.

At the hospital, minutes drag like hours. John sits on a plastic bench in the waiting room, Dean curled up so tightly against him that he's only a small lump under the blanket that's still wrapped around the three of them. Sammy's sleeping, soft hair tickling his father's chin. The police hover by the admitting desk; John had told them in no uncertain terms that they'd have to wait until the kids were checked out and, hopefully, sleeping.

John's heart is in his throat the whole time his children are being examined. He doesn't know what the hell went on in that nursery, but whatever it was, Sammy was there for it. Whatever put Mary on that ceiling could have done _anything _to Sam, and John hopes that if something did happen to his youngest, the doctors will see it. Sam checks out fine, to John's immense relief, just needs a diaper change and a bottle and a nurse heads off to pediatrics with a promise to return soon with both. Physically, Dean's fine too. No smoke inhalation, no burns, but he's quiet. He nods or shakes his head in response to the doctor, but no words come out.

"Probably just trauma_," _the doctor says. "It'll take some time for him to get back to being himself, but children are resilient. You'd be surprised what they can get through."

Time drags on. Eventually Dean falls into a restless slumber, John's hand a constant presence on his back. The police come and he gives them his story. Doesn't know if they believe him, guesses he'll find out soon enough.

Finally, dawn breaks through the hospital windows. John stares into the growing brightness and thinks he should be glad this night is over. Thinks he should be making funeral plans, housing plans, parenting plans. Then he remembers his wife screaming, bursting into flames and he knows the truth- this night will _never _be over.


End file.
